Doped Up
by itstheurgetofall
Summary: The Motorcycle Boy had always warned Rusty-James not to go near drugs, but sometimes it's just too hard to resist. Warning: This will contain spanking of a minor


**Summary: The Motorcycle Boy had always warned Rusty-James not to go near drugs, but sometimes it's just too hard to resist. Warning: This will contain spanking of a minor**

 **AN: I couldn't remember how old the characters were, so I made Rusty-James 14 and The Motorcycle Boy 18. Let's also just pretend that the last chapter or so of Rumble Fish never happened. The Motorcycle Boy is still alive and Rusty-James didn't go to jail and get basically overthrown by Smokey.**

Rusty-James was sitting in the back booth of Benny's with Steve and Smokey. They'd been shooting pool earlier, but had taken a break to have a few drinks.

"Hey, guys." BJ said, walking up to them after entering the hang out.

"Hey. Whatcha got there?" Rusty-James asked, glancing at the bag in his hand.

BJ waved the baggie at him with a grin. "Little bit a weed. You guys want some?"

Rusty-James immediately shook his head. "No thanks, man." he said.

Smokey snorted. "Come on, Rusty-James. You never smoked a little pot?" He was grinning at him in a way that made Rusty-James feel like a kid.

"You know how The Motorcycle Boy feels about that shit. He'd kill me." Rusty-James defended himself.

"The Motorcycle Boy is real smart, but he's wrong about this. A little pot ain't a bad thing. Besides, you don't do everything he says, do you?" Smokey eggs him on.

Rusty-James hates looking weaker than Smokey. They'd been squabbling for the leader of the neighborhood junior high kids, and he couldn't give him any reason to be better than him.

"Of course I don't do everything he says." Rusty-James says. He snatched one of the offered joints out of BJ's hand.

He lit it up and took a deep puff. He'd smoked many cigarettes before, so he could figure out pretty easily how this worked.

Smokey grinned at him and lit up his own, dragging from it.

-Line Break-

Rusty-James felt great. This was better than when he gets wasted. He felt like he was on top of the world, and nothing could touch him.

"What's going on here?" A steadily calm voice, that made chills run up his spine, asked.

Rusty-James turned slowly and looked at his older brother. "Hey." he said, giving him a smile that he hoped came off as nonchalant.

"What's going on here?" The Motorcycle Boy repeated, his voice maintaining that eery calm it always does. Only Rusty-James could tell that he was furious.

"We're just hanging out." Smokey said. The Motorcycle Boy turned his normally vacant, but currently pissed, expression on him.

"I wasn't talking to you." he said coldly. "We're leaving." he said to Rusty-James.

Rusty-James could feel that high he'd had earlier quickly leaving him as he slowly trudged over to The Motorcycle Boy. His brother placed a firm hand on the back of his neck, squeezing a bit too tight, and led him over to the motorcycle he'd evidently rode up on. The bike was a nice puma and Rusty-James vaguely wondered if the owner would miss it. He hopped on the back as The Motorcycle Boy started it up and drove off with him.

-Line Break-

The brothers walked into their apartment. Rusty-James flopped back on the cot. He closed his eyes tiredly, only to open them a few moments later when he felt a gaze on him. The Motorcycle Boy was staring at him in a way that could only be described as as stern.

"Did you take drugs?" he asked. Rusty-James felt a bit surprised that the older boy was still thinking about that. It was usually very hard to keep his mind on one thing, especially something concerning his younger brother.

"Maybe. So what if I did?" he asked defensively, although he already knew what the so what is. He had a flash to a memory of his brother promising to break his arm if he ever took dope.

The Motorcycle Boy was quiet for an awkwardly long time, causing Rusty-James to squirm a bit. "How many times have I told you not to take drugs? It's one of the only things I've told you not to do." he finally said.

Rusty-James sat up, sighing. "Come on, man. It's not like I was shooting up. Me and the guys were just smoking a bit."

The Motorcycle Boy's face hardened more than the younger one had ever really seen it. "The fact that you weren't shooting up is thee only reason you're conscious right now." Rusty-James winced.

"Look, I'm sorry, I guess." he said, still not really seeing what the big deal was. He understood why his brother hated most drugs, hell he hated serious shit like crack or heroin too, but pot seemed pretty harmless.

His brother was looking at him again in that way where he seemed to be analysing everything about him. "No you're not." he decided.

Rusty-James rolled his eyes, causing The Motorcycle Boy to frown deeply. "What's with you and this lack of respect? You give me an attitude after deliberately breaking the most important rule I've made."

Rusty-James muttered an apology. "You gonna break my arm?" he asked hesitantly.

The Motorcycle Boy seemed to consider this for a minute. "No, I suppose not."

"Then whatcha gonna do?" The boy asks.

Another moment of consideration. "I can't ground you." he said slowly. Rusty-James agreed with that, he supposed, since his brother would most likely just forget about it. Which wouldn't exactly be a bad thing for him.

"I guess I'm going to spank you, then." The Motorcycle Boy said, sitting down next to him on the cot. Rusty-James blinked and stared at him. He was waiting for the other boy to start laughing, like he usually did.

"Are you being serious?" he asked after the laughing did not happen.

"Very." The Motorcycle Boy said. Rusty-James watched in a daze as he had his wrist grabbed in a gentle, but strong grip, and was pulled over his brother's lap. His jeans were quickly tugged down, exposing his boxers, and he wondered dully what would have been more embarrassing, refusing the joint, or his buddies seeing him like this, face down over the lap of the Prince of Tulsa.

Then the actual spanking part started. Rusty-James bit back a low groan at the first few swats, then managed to keep himself in control. He counted slowly in his head to get his ,mind away from what was happening, before a particularly harsh round of swats to his thighs.

"Don't you zone out on me." The Motorcycle Boy said, softly.

Rusty-James snorted. "Look who's talking." he muttered. His brother was evidently not listening to him, as he did not reply.

His brother remained silent while he smacked him, and as the burning intensified Rusty-James feared that he had blanked out while doing this and would never stop.

He began to squirm around, attempting to get lose or at least get his attention. The Motorcycle Boy spanked his sit spots a few times.

"Don't do that." he ordered, infuriatingly calm.

"Then you quit hittin' me!" Rusty-James hollered at him.

"I'm not hitting you." The Motorcycle Boy said, never letting up on the swats. "What am I doing to you?"

"Shit, you should know!" Rusty-James snapped at him.

"I do know. And I want to make sure you do too."

The kid scowled at the ground. "You're being a big jerk and spanking me." he grumbled.

The Motorcycle Boy ignored his insult, or didn't hear it. "Yes I am. And why am I doing that?" he asked.

Great, now he's a big talker, Rusty-James grouched to himself. "Because I broke your stupid rule and took some stupid drugs." he answered.

"That rule is there to protect you. If you break it again, I'm gonna use a belt on you." The Motorcycle Boy warned before stopping.

He allowed Rusty-James to stand and pull up his jeans. Rusty-James was grateful that he didn't point out the tears leaking out of his eyes.

The Motorcycle Boy didn't say anything else, just stood up from the cot and went to change. Rusty-James wipe away the stray tears and opted to just pull his jeans off and crawl into the cot in his boxers.

He was laying down when he felt the bed dip beside him, and an arm wrapped itself around his torso. He rolled over to see that it was his brother. The Motorcycle Boy pulled Rusty-James into his side, never really looking at him. The older boy used his free hand to pick up a book and begin to read, while the hand that was around Rusty-James moved so that it was stroking the boy's hair.

Rusty-James decided that this was the sort of zoning out he liked as he cuddled closer to The Motorcycle Boy, while he began to absentmindedly hum a soft song that sent Rusty-James into sleep.


End file.
